The Eye of the Hurricane
by highplainswoman
Summary: Harm's reflections on moving, promotion, engagement-small "story"


Disclaimers: Don't own JAG—just borrowing them for a while.

A/N: Season finale—WoW! Intellectually, more satisfying that almost anything the writers could come up with—entirely consistent with the way the whole series has gone! And So sweet!—This fic just a short one, a reflection on the finale—which, for all JAGniks out there, left a huge door open for more stories. Looking forward to reading such.

"The Eye of the Hurricane"

Bags and boxes were packed, paperwork completed, offices and apartments bare. In their respective apartments, they each looked around and each heaved a heavy sigh. It was a bittersweet time for both and for different reasons.

For him, he felt the responsibility of creating a happy environment for her especially, since she had given up her Marine Corps career to join him. He had to admit, it made better sense for her than him—he had just received the promotion—i.e. more pay, and apparently all the "dings" to his record didn't automatically disqualify him from eventually reaching for the JAG position in Washington itself. "Not exactly 'fast track,'" he reminded himself, but still not behind, either. Time in grade and performance were now what counted. The fact that her newly created position was a "prototype"—an "experiment"—just added weight to the "rightness" of the result of the fateful coin toss. There was a grim satisfaction on his part over the way the coin toss happened—not that he wanted to give up her career, but this time, working with fate instead of against. There was a "correctness" to their "decision-making" process that felt both inexplicable and satisfying: these feelings would have existed even if the coin toss had gone the other way. The "established" vs. "prototype" argument was nothing but a rationalization drummed up to explain in a "rational" way to others—they themselves didn't need that "explanation"—they knew that and that's why they could have lived with the results going the other way.

Performance. He frowned. If Mac could see him now, she would have given him both a half smile and a question. He was Captain now, now one step removed from Admiral. It was definitely time to give up his wings, since he was now moving into an administrative position of responsibility. No more flying off aircraft carriers. No more flying (except in "Sarah" when he was in the States) on investigations. No more extra-secret missions for the CIA—or State Dept.—or whatever agency/beaucracy Clay claimed to be from. That, in itself, was a relief. He was getting too old for that type of "action" and had discovered, in the last year or so, a surprising contentment at being in a courtroom. There was no more restlessness, especially now that he had made his commitment to her. He had to grin: the "negotiation" over their engagement was so-o-o-o typical of the way they acted as a couple, informally, of course, in past years—an unconventional way of getting to the conventional. The thought struck him out of the blue: maybe his restlessness of previous years might have shrunk to at least manageable levels if he had made his commitment sooner—a replacement of one kind of "home"—in the sky—for another kind of "home"—with her. There was irony in that statement, as he thought about that: it's what she always wanted. It wasn't until she was able to "let go" of her dislike for his flying those mighty war machines and come to terms with it herself that he was able to give that up. Since she was somewhat "physic"—something he had reason to be grateful for—maybe she instinctively knew that way back when and maybe that was one explanation for all the turmoil of years past. "Law of life", he found himself chuckling. Maybe it was true: if you love something, let it go. If it was meant to be, it would come back. In any case, he no longer felt the compulsive need to "prove anything", either to himself or others. In her very presence, he felt at home—and in her arms, there was a serenity that beckened to him with the same ferocity that made him a "Top Gun" in the sky. She should welcome that, he thought.

There was still another reason to give up the wings, though, and this made it easier to contemplate. It would definitely make her happier, knowing he would be home every night for supper—and for her. She never would ask him to do that for her—she would claim it was too much a part of what made him what and who he was—but it was time, not only for her but for him. It wouldn't necessarily change his personality—and this time, his mouth did quirk upwards—he would still be considered "arrogant" by some—but it would be "arrogance" tempered with age and the wisdom that came from both age and experience. (He reminded himself wisdom doesn't always come with age. Hell, he was already there in some ways.) 

The doorbell rang, interrupting his thought. He opened it and there she was, in all her feminine glory. He opened the door wider and invited her in, first planting a moderately passionate kiss on her lips. ("Thank God I can do that now," he thought, remembering all the "near-misses" in the past nine years.)

"Hey,"—not "hi"—but "Hey."

"Hey to you too. How's it going?"

He sighed. "Just waiting for the movers." He put his arms around her and embraced her, resting his chin on the top of her head. "How 'bout you?"

"Other than relabeling addresses, everything—and I mean _everything_ has been done. Just waiting. . ."

He moved away from her to look into her eyes. "What say we 'split' this joint—I need a 'break' Let's go for coffee somewhere or walk around the Mall one last time—whatever. I just need some 'quiet' time with you."

On the Mall. .

They were sitting on one of the benches scattered around the Mall and he was holding her hand. It was a welcome respite of quite time from the hustle and bussel of the last 72 hours or so since General Cresswell made his announcement.

"You know, in some ways I really envy you, Sarah," was the unexpected comment coming from him. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Explain that, please. I can't imagine anyone envying my life—at least up to the last 12 hours."

He leaned forward, keeping her hand in his and clasping their joined hands with the other so he could purposefully look up at her. "You have a separate name for intimate moments."

She stared at him. It was one of those "wordless conversations" that used to be so commonplace with them—and drove their respective "Significant Others" wild—and it was coming back. She knew what it did to her when he called her "Sarah": it was a special moment. She thought she knew what he meant—but, this time, she wanted to make sure. "I think I know what you're talking about, but explain anyway. I want as few misunderstandings as possible now."

She didn't have to add ". . .especially since I've given up my career." He knew. The ground rules in their relationship was changing—the old ones wouldn't work any more—for that very reason.

"You have a public persona—'Mac"—and a private one—'Sarah'". He kissed their joined hands. "I just want you to know I love—and have loved—both for a long, long time." He lifted his head to the soft breeze so it could blow through his hair. "You 'complete' me in a way I can't really explain." He put his free hand in his shirt pocket and pulled something out of it. He held the object out to her and her eyes opened wide—the object was his "gold wings". "I'm giving up flying, Sarah."

"Will the Navy let you do that?" Her voice was very soft. "I mean, given the current situation. . ."

"They're going to have to. I've discovered I don't 'need' to fly the war birds anymore. I need to start getting 'selfish'—for both of us. It's the clearest way I know to demonstrate I don't need the wings to compensate—you more than do that for the wings." How else could he explain the notion of "completeness" with her? "I'm a badly flawed man, Sarah, You're the only woman I know who accepts those flaws."

Did that make up for the loss of her career? It was overwhelming—the realization that he loved not just the "kick-ass marine" but the woman "Sarah". In fact, she was beginning to realize he loved the woman "Sarah" more than the Marine. It was shattering and pleasant/painful in that odd sort of way pain/pleasure are but two sides of the same coin. She struggled to hold herself together.

"You know this isn't going to be easy." She eventually said. "It's never been easy for us, you know. Misunderstandings, not communicating clearly—", a thought occurred to her and she almost giggled in spite of the tears and pain. "You know, for lawyers, we can both be downright obtuse."

That flyboy grin appears that brightened her day so much. "Only with you, Sarah, only with you."

Somehow that wiped out all the pain from Australia. He pulled her up to her feet. "Let's go. We still have a lot to do.

They walked down the edge of the reflecting pool, the sunset reflecting in the water, into a future that was as beckoning and full of new hope as the day they first met in the Rose Garden of the White House. Different continent, different positions, and new hope for two lost souls forever entwined.


End file.
